prestige
by elise marielle
Summary: She's dedicated her entire life to that one day when she will be crowned leader of WindClan. But as tension rises around the lake and clans turn on clans, her dream might be just that — a dream.
1. criticism

_Disclaimer: I don't own Warriors._

**Allegiances**

**WINDCLAN**

**Leader:**

Hazelstar — light creamy brown tabby molly

**Deputy:**

Lightningflight — thin cream tabby tom

**Medicine Cat:**

Shrikesong — blue-gray-and-white patched tom

**Warriors:**

Fallowpelt — small golden brown tabby tom  
Willowface — pretty pale gray-and-white patched molly  
Nightfang — muscular black tom  
_Apprentice: Larkpaw_  
Dacetail — dark silver tom  
_Apprentice: Blizzardpaw_  
Swanpelt — white molly  
Tawnystripe — ginger tom with distinctive dark stripes  
Duskclaw — muscular dark gray-brown tabby tom  
Haretail — pale brown ticked tabby tom  
_Apprentice: Poppypaw_  
Thistlefeather — slender cream-and-white patched molly  
_Apprentice: Dawnpaw_  
Brindlefur — tiny tortoiseshell molly  
_Apprentice: Bleakpaw_

**Apprentices:**

Dawnpaw — lean cream-and-blue tortoiseshell molly  
Bleakpaw — pale blue-gray tom  
Poppypaw — bright ginger molly  
Larkpaw — golden-brown-and-white patched molly  
Blizzardpaw — large white tom

**Queens & Kits:**

One-eye — one-eyed creamy brown tabby molly with a white chest and paws, mother of Fawnkit (pale brown molly), Silverkit (dark silver tabby molly), Pebblekit (small gray-brown tabby tom), and Smokekit (pale gray tabby tom)

**Elders:**

Sageleaf — plump blue-gray tom  
Dapplepatch — mostly-white calico molly

**OTHER CHARACTERS**

Mothstar — long-furred dark ginger molly, leader of ThunderClan  
Shellstar — pale blue-gray tabby tom, leader of RiverClan  
Sandstar — sandy ginger tom with white patches, leader of ShadowClan  
(Will be updated as the story progresses)

* * *

**Chapter One**

She flattened her tiny form to the ground, crouching so low that even her bright tawny-and-black brindled fur was invisible among the heather. She raised her head slightly and peered out across the moor with narrowed amber eyes, searching the rippling grass and bleak outcroppings for any blur of movement, any sign of the cat she was searching for. The desolate landscape looked completely devoid of life.

She parted her jaws slightly, exposing the roof of her mouth and letting in a flood of scents. Hare, sheep, mud, and the crisp smell of grass, but none of WindClan's distinctive wind-and-rock scent. In fact, all the other smells were almost smothered by mud. That was strange; it hadn't rained in a while. She drew in another breath, and now it was clear: underneath the rotting, earthy smell of wet dirt, there was familiar catscent. Her target must have taken a dip in the marshy bit of territory close to camp to throw her tracker off. _Clever, but not quite clever enough._ She lowered her nose to the ground, picking up the trail, and bounded forward through the heather.

The scent led her on a winding path through the moor. Although it twisted and turned and she almost lost it a couple of times (once in a particularly marshy patch of land where her target had jumped from tussock to tussock and once when she'd doubled back on her path) it always seemed to stray in one direction: the ThunderClan border. _Ugh, why ThunderClan__?_ She hissed internally. At least the boggy RiverClan border wasn't covered with trees and undergrowth.

It seemed to take ages for her to finally reached the wide-set birches that extended beyond the border and into WindClan territory. She paused when the tops of the trees closed over her head, but only momentarily; although she hated the claustrophobic feeling of the sparse forest she had no time to stop. The blue sky and white clouds as fluffy as sheep were gone, swallowed up by rustling, rattling leaves, and however hard she strained her ears she couldn't tell the whisper of the breeze apart from the whisper of paws. The only sound other than the forest was the cheerfully babbling stream marking the border between ThunderClan and WindClan.

_How am I supposed to find her here?_

She hissed quietly, her ears flattening with annoyance, and lowered her head to the ground to pick up the scent again, but there was . . . nothing. No mud and no cat. Just cold, slimy, wet leaves. Her eyes narrowed and her tail twitched. She had to find her target before the sun sank behind the mountains, and already its radiant golden rays were touching the highest peak. But how could she, if the trail had simply vanished? Where could her target have disappeared to?

_Oh._

The answer hit her like a boulder rolling down a hill. Slowly, she looked up, up, up, into the spindly branches of a tall spidery birch. Pale olive eyes peered back at her for a heartbeat before the cat leaped.

A blue-and-cream-dappled blur slammed into her shoulders, knocking her to the leaf-strewn ground. The breath in her lungs escaped with a gasp and she wheezed for a heartbeat. But if there was an advantage to being tiny, it was that she was fast, and she recovered quickly, rising to her brindled paws just in time to evade a blow from her opponent. They circled for a heartbeat, sizing each other up, and then her attacker leaped and suddenly they were writhing and screeching across the forest floor. Paws tore at her pelt and for a moment the molly was on top of her, pressing against her throat. She struggled, but it was to no avail; she was much smaller than her opponent. She went limp.

The molly relaxed as she tasted victory and she exploded upward, breaking her grip and sending them both tumbling to the ground. She felt sharp fangs grasp her delicate ears, but she pulled away before they could snap down and struck out with all her might. The blow connected with the molly's head. Although her opponent was slightly larger, she was less experienced; and she recoiled, loosening her grip for just a second. She wriggled away and sprang up, landing on the molly's back with ease and planting a paw firmly on her heaving chest. Amber eyes met olive for a heartbeat, and then she leaned forward, aiming for the throat. Her jaws snapped closed an inch from downy cream chest fur, but the molly twisted to avoid her sharp fangs and kicked out hard with her hind legs. She went flying, and although she landed on her feet, her ribs ached with the force of the blow. She spun around to face the young molly just in time to glimpse her spring into the air. She flattened herself to the ground, preparing for impact, but it never came.

"Alright, you two, that's enough."

Both mollies went limp, their flanks heaving as they fought for breath. An old tom slunk out from the shadow of a large oak. He still retained some of his once-formidable strength, and although now his muzzle was flecked with white hairs and his bones were prominent, he held his head high. The younger molly ducked her head respectfully, but the older just lowered her eyes. _I'm not bowing to an inept deputy who refuses to put his clan before his pride and retire to the elders' den!_

"Dawnpaw, you did well on your assessment, particularly climbing that tree so you could leap down on Brindlefur. That was some quick thinking. I'm sure when we report back to Hazelstar she will have no qualms about you becoming a warrior." He mewed to the young cat. Dawnpaw nodded, only her bristling cream-and-blue tail betraying her excitement. Brindlefur felt a purr rumble in her chest. Dawnpaw was a talented apprentice; she deserved to become a warrior.

"You can head back to camp. I'm just going to have a word with Brindlefur for a few heartbeats." He continued, and Brindlefur glared at the ground. _Why can't he bother someone else about how 'he's deputy and that means we must respect him?' In fact, he can just tell the whole clan, since we all think he's just a stubborn old burrbrain._

"Thank you, Lightningflight." Dawnpaw ducked her head again to the old tom before turning and loping through the forest and out into the open moor. The last thing Brindlefur saw before a hill swallowed up her small form was the cream-and-blue molly giving a small jump for joy, her purr so loud it could be heard a tree-length away.

She turned away and faced the elderly deputy. _Let's get this over with._

"Brindlefur." Lightningflight began, pacing back and forth. "Everyone knows that I've been in poor health recently, and I've decided that I will soon retire to the elder's den if I don't get any better."

_Finally! _Lightningflight was older than some of the elders and still he refused to give up his post. Some viewed that as commitment to WindClan, but even if it was commitment and not his pride, he was still weakening his clan. He was too sick half the time to arrange patrols!

"I've been talking with Hazelstar about—" He broke off with a cough. Others followed, forcing their way up his throat with a terrible hacking sound. Brindlefur backed away and turned towards the hills that Dawnpaw had just vanished into, readying herself for a sprint back to camp. But Lightningflight shook his head desperately out of the corner of her eye and she paused. Slowly, the coughs petered out, leaving the old deputy gasping for breath.

"Will you be alright?" She mewed bluntly. Lightningflight laughed wheezily.

"I've never seen you concerned about me before. I thought you wouldn't care if I died, seeing as I'm such 'a stupid, prideful deputy,' as you put it."

Brindlefur's shoulder fur bristled. She _had _said that to Thistlefeather, but surely Thistlefeather hadn't told Lightningflight. Someone must have listened in, maybe even the deputy himself.

"But enough about me." Lightningflight seemed not to notice her agitation. "I've been talking with Hazelstar about who will be the next deputy of WindClan, and we both agree that you are more committed to the clan than anyone else."

_Me? _Brindlefur's fur prickled with suspicion. Her and Lightningflight's enmity was no secret; she doubted he would ever consider making her deputy. It was Hazelstar she was banking on. Lightningflight was one of the cats who had 'suggested' (it had been more like a command, in her opinion) that she become a medicine cat; he still seemed to think she was the minuscule sickly kit she'd been two leaf-bares ago.

"The way you channel this commitment, however, is less than satisfactory. You have to learn how to be _tactful,_ Brindlefur. Insulting the cat with the second highest influence over a leader's decision is not tactful, even if you're right. You have to learn to pick your battles carefully and _bite your tongue_ sometimes. If you were leader of this clan, Hazelstar and I are afraid that WindClan would take part in many meaningless battles over trivial details. You don't ever stop to consider the consequences of your actions, Brindlefur. And that's a dangerous trait for a clan leader to have."

_What? Hazelstar said that? _Brindlefur's heart sank and she opened her mouth to retort, but Lightningflight didn't wait for her to protest.

"I'm not saying you would be a bad leader. I'm sure you would lead the clan well, but there are others that could lead the clan better. Thistlefeather, for instance. Maybe she doesn't have your ambition, but she's wise enough to know when a battle is worth fighting. So don't be surprised tonight when you're not named deputy."

_Tonight? _Thistlefeather?

Lightningflight wheeled around and loped away, back through the wispy birches and out on to the sunset-tinted moor, leaving Brindlefur reeling. Thistlefeather was her best friend, and maybe the only cat who could blunt her sharp edges, but Thistlefeather, _leader?_ Thistlefeather didn't _deserve _the deputy position. She hadn't served her clan like Brindlefur had; she hadn't hunted in the dead of night just to feed the mewling kits in the nursery or fought tooth and claw prey rabbit to feed her starving clanmates. _I've spent my whole life tirelessly serving the clan, and now Lightningflight is telling me that that's not _enough, _that dedicating my whole life to WindClan isn't enough?_

She turned and padded out of the shadows of the forest. The sun was already sinking behind the snow-capped mountains in the distance; she'd stood alone for too long and it would be nightfall by the time she reached camp. Her tailtip dragged along the ground as she trudged over the first hill._ I should have realized I was never going to be deputy. Everyone still thinks of me as the warrior who should have a been a medicine cat.__  
_

It was going to be a long trip home.

* * *

**A/N: A molly is a female cat, by the way.**


	2. disappointment

_Disclaimer: I don't own Warriors._

* * *

**Chapter Two**

The fading light cast shadows across the hollow, throwing most of camp into darkness, but there was still enough light for Brindlefur to recognize the cats in camp as she finally slipped through the gorse barrier. Hazelstar was talking to Lightningflight and Thistlefeather; no doubt about Dawnpaw's assessment. Fallowpelt stood behind Lightningflight, his golden-brown tail twitching impatiently. A lanky blue-gray tom fidgeted nervously at his side. _Bleakpaw!_

How could she have forgotten about her own apprentice? Bleakpaw was Dawnpaw's sister; Fallowpelt and Thistlefeather had assessed him at sunrise. Per WindClan custom (mentors were forbidden to interact with their apprentice from sunrise to sunset of their assessment day), she hadn't talked to him since the first light of dawn. He had probably gone through the same kind of test as Dawnpaw: he would have to evade Thistlefeather, set himself up in a good tactical position, then attack her. WindClan apprentices had their hunting assessment halfway through their apprenticeship and then moved on to battle moves and tactics; three moons ago Bleakpaw had passed his with flying colors._  
_

The anxiety that had haunted her all morning hit full force once more. Bleakpaw was an exceptional hunter, yes, but his fighting was less than satisfactory. The last time they had practiced (two days ago?), although Bleakpaw had dodged all of her blows with ease, he hadn't once tried to launch an attack of his own. He was too cautious, too timid.

"Bleakpaw!" She called to her apprentice, the words edged with ice. Bleakpaw could clearly detect her bad mood and gave no sign that he'd heard her except to look down at his paws, his ears flattened. Dread filled her belly like a stone as she stalked towards the huddle of cats.

"What's going on, Fallowpelt?" She demanded. The golden-brown warrior merely looked at her for a moment, his expression unreadable.

"You'll see." Was his only explanation. "We'll talk with Hazelstar in a minute about Bleakpaw's performance. You were supposed to be here earlier, you know, to talk about how Dawnpaw did on her assessment, but they made do without you."

Brindlefur opened her mouth to retort that she had a right to know how her apprentice had done on his assessment, but Lightningflight's words echoed in her ears: _pick your battles carefully._ "Sorry that I was late." Was all she said to to the golden tom, although she couldn't keep the faint hint of a snarl out of her words. Fallowpelt's whiskers twitched and she gritted her teeth._  
_

"Brindlefur, Fallowpelt, come over here." Hazelstar's voice saved Brindlefur from snapping at Fallowpelt. She padded toward the creamy brown molly, averting her eyes from Lightningflight's yellow gaze; the hurt his words had caused was still raw, although she would never admit it. Out of the corner of her eye Bleakpaw backed away. Fallowpelt stood next to her and they both ducked their heads respectfully to Hazelstar.

"Brindlefur? Do you believe Bleakpaw is ready to become a warrior?" Hazelstar inquired.

Brindlefur opened her mouth, but she found she didn't have an answer. Did she really think Bleakpaw was ready to become a warrior? Had he learned everything there was to learn about serving his clan? Would he lay down his life to save a clanmate?

_No._

But if she said told Hazelstar no, Bleakpaw would remain an apprentice, and even if Lightningflight and Hazelstar decided she was right for the job the warrior code would forbid her from becoming deputy.

_What would be best for the clan?_ After all, that had always been the question she'd asked herself when deciding something. But the answer had always taken her one step closer to being deputy. This answer would erase her chances almost completely, at least in the short term.

"I . . . I don't know." She mewed evasively. "He's an exceptional hunter. He's very cautious when it comes to battles and he rarely goes on the offensive, but bravery isn't really something you can learn . . ." She trailed off.

"Nevertheless, it is still an essential trait of any warrior. Thank you, Brindlefur; I'll will take what you've said into cmonsideration." Hazelstar mewed. Brindlefur dipped her head and backed away. Hazelstar turned to Fallowpelt.

"Fallowpelt? What do you think?"

"Bleakpaw performed well when he was running _away _from Thistlefeather, but when it comes to going _towards _danger . . . When he fought, he never went on the offensive. He ducked all of Thistlefeather's blows, evaded them quite well, actually, but eventually Thistlefeather managed to pin him down because he didn't get there first. He had several chances to at least get a good blow in, but he didn't take them. I don't think he's quite ready to be a warrior." Fallowpelt concluded. "He's afraid to fight, and warriors should always be able to defend their clan."

Hazelstar nodded and looked to Thistlefeather, gesturing with her tail for the cream-and-white molly to speak. Thistlefeather glanced at Brindlefur, her tail twitching with indecision, before she said simply "I agree with Fallowpelt."

"Bleakpaw will not become a warrior tonight, then." Hazelstar mewed firmly. "We will assess him again in a moon, if Brindlefur is willing." She looked to the tortoiseshell molly questioningly. Brindlefur nodded distractedly as Hazelstar turned and headed towards the jagged-rock.

"Brindlefur?"

Bleakpaw stood behind her, his eyes downcast. He shifted his paws, refusing to look his mentor in the eye. Brindlefur shouldered him aside as the silence stretched on; she had no patience for her apprentice right now.

"Wait! Am I going to be a warrior?"

Brindlefur paused and spun around. Bleakpaw shrank down in the face of her anger, his tail fur prickling to twice its normal size. "No." She spat at the silver tom. "No, you're not. And I'm not going to be deputy, either. I guess we don't always get what we want, do we?"

She spun around and stalked towards her nest, not sparing a glance for her apprentice. Already her anger was cooling, reduced to embers, but she didn't want to face any of her clanmates when they realized that she had failed in training Bleakpaw. Her nest was on the edge of camp, sheltered by the gorse barrier but still with a view of the stars. She circled the mound of moss and feathers twice, then curled up into a tiny ball. She shut her eyes tightly.

"Brindlefur?"

_Not right now, Thistlefeather._ Brindlefur slowed her breathing trying to make it seem like she was asleep, but Thistlefeather didn't buy it, of course.

"I'm really sorry, Brindlefur. But I had to be honest, and I don't think Bleakpaw's ready to be a warrior. Not that you didn't train him well, you were amazing, always taking him out for practice and stuff. I know how much you wanted to be deputy, but it'll only be a moon, right? And then when Lightningflight retires, you'll be named deputy for sure."

Brindlefur was silent.

"Brindlefur?"

Still Brindlefur did not reply. She could hear the rustle of thick fur as Thistlefeather shifted uncomfortably. "Brindlefur, if you're angry at me, just tell me, don't sit there and sulk—"

_"May all cats of WindClan old enough to sleep under the stars gather beneath the white-rock for a clan meeting!"_

Brindlefur buried her head under her tail. She heard Thistlefeather's light pawsteps retreat as her friend padded towards the white-rock to see her apprentice receive her warrior name. Yesterday Brindlefur had planned to sit with her at the foot of the rock to see Bleakpaw become a warrior; now she wasn't sure if she would even watch the ceremony.

_No, I can't give Lightningflight the satisfaction of seeing me beaten. And I'm _not _beaten. I'll stand on top of that rock some day._

Brindlefur rose to her paws and slunk to the edge of the small crowd gathered beneath the white-rock (so named because of the pale lichen covering every whisker-length of its smooth surface). The moon was full enough that she could still see Dawnpaw's dappled pelt bristling with excitement. Hazelstar was merely a shadow on top of the rock. She yowled for silence and the few conversations still going on quickly died out. She turned to Dawnpaw.

"Today, clanmates, we celebrate the making of a new warrior. I, Hazelstar, leader of WindClan, call upon my warrior ancestors to look down on this apprentice. She has trained hard to learn the ways of your noble code, and I commend her to you as warrior in her turn. Dawnpaw, do you promise to uphold the code of your ancestors and protect your clan, even at the cost of your life?"

"I do." Dawnpaw's voice was solemn and held no trace of the nervous excitement her prickling tail betrayed.

"Then with the blessings of StarClan, I bestow upon you your warrior name. From this moment on, you will be known as Dawndapple. StarClan and WindClan alike honor your determination and intelligence and we welcome you as a full warrior to our ranks."

Hazelstar leaped down from the rock, her pale yellow eyes luminous in the gloom, and rested her muzzle gently on the newly-named Dawndapple's head. The cream-and-blue warrior licked her leader's shoulder respectfully as the cheers began: "Dawndapple! Dawndapple!"

Bleakpaw was the first to shout his sister's name. For once he didn't shy away from disappointed looks his clanmates shot him as he stood as tall as he could and yowled at the top of his lungs. Brindlefur could tell a few of the looks Bleakpaw was getting were directed her way too; Haretail and Swanpelt were both looking at her, disdain conveyed in every flick of their tails. Brindlefur held back a snarl and directed a frosty glance at each of them. They looked away.

Dawndapple ducked into the crowd and was instantly smothered by congratulatory family and friends. Brindlefur hung back; although she felt obligated to praise the new warrior, she could do it later. After giving the clan a few heartbeats, Hazelstar sprang back up onto the white-rock and yowled for silence. Her command was instantly obeyed. Brindlefur muffled a hiss as she saw Lightningflight push his way through the crowd to stand beneath the white-rock. A few murmurs broke out — murmurs of relief that Lightningflight was finally retiring, Brindlefur thought — but Hazelstar quelled them with an impatient flick of her thin brown tail.

"Today we will also let one of our most honored warriors go. I am talking, of course, about Lightningflight. He has served his clan long and well, and proven his value many times over."

Brindlefur snorted, earning a glare from Fallowpelt.

"Ligntingflight, is it your wish to give up the position of deputy and join the elders?"

"Yes, it is." Lightningflight's mew was raspy and weak, but he still held his head high.

"Your clan honors you and the service you have given to us. May StarClan bless you with many moons of peace."

"Lightningflight! Lightningflight!" Brindlefur didn't join in as her clanmates cheered for the former deputy; Fallowpelt's ears twitched, but this time he didn't reprimand her.

Lightningflight dipped his head to both Hazelstar and the gathered clan. "Thank you." He mewed simply. On slightly trembling legs he stalked towards the rest of the gathered elders, rubbing muzzles with Dapplepatch when he reached them. Brindlefur realized with surprise that she was his mate.

"And now we have on more ceremony to perform." Hazelstar yowled to the clan. The hollow was silent. Brindlefur could almost feel the anticipation in the air, like lightning about to strike; even she was on edge. The tiny spark of hope in her chest that she would still be made deputy had bloomed into a single flame.

"I say these words before StarClan, so that the spirits of our noble ancestors may hear and approve my choice. The new deputy of WindClan will be Thistlefeather."

* * *

**A/N: Thank you for the review, SailorOfStars! I really appreciate it.**

**I apologize for the lack of action in this chapter.**


	3. friction

_Disclaimer: I don't own Warriors._

* * *

She opened her eyes to a view of the sky.

It was pale blue and still speckled with faintly flickering stars. The sun peeked over the distant mountains, sending rays of creamy golden light streaming across the moor. It was dry, of course, and no rainclouds interrupted the vast expanse of sky; although it was leafbare, there had been no rain to speak of for many days.

It was cold, though. Brindlefur shook out her thick tawny-and-black pelt to combat the chill, but it seemed to make no difference. She shivered.

She slowly clambered to her paws and arched her spine in a quick stretch. A pale creamy feather from her nest clung to her pelt and she dislodged it with a lick. She blinked wearily; the fuzziness of sleep hadn't vacated her mind yet. Her dreams had left their mark, too — they had been full of confusion and chaos and left her disoriented.

She circled the mound of moss twice and lay back down with her nose under her fluffy tail. She'd gone hunting last night to distract herself from the thoughts chasing each other around her head — _she doesn't deserve it, why didn't I try harder, why didn't Bleakpaw try harder, what did I do wrong_ — and it was taking its toll now. She closed her eyes and settled deeper into her nest. Just a few — more — heartbeats —

"Brindlefur! Get up! We're going on a hunting patrol!"

Haredung.

She cracked one amber eye open. Thistlefeather's cream-and-white-patched paws blocked her vision, shifting impatiently. "I known you're awake; you just stretched a heartbeat ago. Duskclaw and Dacetail are coming with us to hunt."

Brindlefur opened her other eye to glare at Thistlefeather. "I just hunted last night. I'm not due for a patrol till at least sunhigh." She nearly spat. Thistlefeather's ears flattened slightly at Brindlefur's venom and she took a step backward.

"Please, Brindlefur. I need to talk to you."

Brindlefur didn't reply, but with an irritated meow she rose smoothly to her paws, which was answer enough for Thistlefeather. "You don't have time to eat," the cream-and-white molly added, "they're already waiting."

* * *

"Dacetail? Why don't you and Duskclaw check the old rabbit warrens for some prey? Brindlefur and I are going to hunt at the Outcropping."

Thistlefeather turned her striking ice-blue gaze on Dacetail. He seemed unimpressed by her beauty, his tail flicking back and forth, but Duskclaw was certainly affected. The dark gray tom nearly dragged his silver friend away in his haste to follow Thistlefeather's instructions.

Brindlefur huffed out a breath of scorn. Thistlefeather had to be the prettiest molly in WindClan, maybe even the prettiest in all the clans. But that didn't give her the right to push everyone around —_ although I suppose now that she's deputy she does have the right,_ Brindlefur thought acidly. She shouldered the cream molly out of her way and stalked ahead. A quiet sigh from Thistlefeather echoed in her ears, but she didn't slow down —

— until she stumbled over a pebble and crashed into the stony ground. _Haredung! _Her pelt burned as she clambered to her paws again, refusing to acknowledge her tumble. She was just so _tired_; her eyes were closing and she could hardly lift her paws.

"Brindlefur, we need to talk, remember?"

Brindlefur halted and turned to face the cream-patched molly. Thistlefeather startled as she realized the tortoiseshell was actually going to listen to her; Brindlefur felt guilt boil in her stomach but pushed it away. "_No_, I _didn't_ remember." She snapped sarcastically at Thistlefeather; her friend actually backed away from her.

"What did I do?" She asked, sounding slightly irritated. Brindlefur huffed out a sigh.

"You're deputy."

"So?" Thistlefeather's ears flattened with annoyance. _"That's _why you're angry at me? That's harebrained. It's not like I can _control _who Hazelstar picks. Maybe she just thought that I would be a better deputy than you —"

Brindlefur hissed, cutting Thistlefeather off. "You don't _deserve _to be deputy. _No one _has done as much as I have for this clan. I don't remember _you_ hunting with me while I froze my whiskers off trying to feed Dawndapple and Bleakpaw. You weren't there when I trained even though it made me sick to do it, or when I hunted from moonrise to sunrise so that I could feed the elders, or when I fought off a RiverClan patrol single-pawed so Hazelstar could be healed . . ."_  
_

She paused to take a breath and inhaled the faint scent of ThunderClan. She pricked her ears. Something was happening near the Outcropping. Faint spits and snarls echoed, coupled with high-pitched yowls of pain. She glanced at the cream molly next to her; Thistlefeather could hear it too, apparently. Without waiting for the deputy, she bounded forward, deliberately kicking up a cloud of dirt in Thistlefeather's face. She heard a cough and then a snarl and raised her plumy tail with satisfaction.

It was only a short run; she and Thistlefeather were already very close to the collection of rocks that stuck out of the ground like mismatched fangs. She reached the top of a gentle slope and plunged down the other side, unprepared for the sight that met her eyes. A gray tabby cat was pinned to the ground, cuts marring her pale pelt like red ribbons. A silver patched tom had his paw planted on her skinny chest and was tearing into her underside. Her companion, a light golden-and-white patched molly, crouched, her powerful hind legs tensed. As Brindlefur watched she hurled herself into the air and landed squarely on the tom's back.

_That's Shrikesong!_ Brindlefur realized with a shock, like a pawful of water had been dumped over her ears. But Shrikesong was a medicine cat, not a warrior — why would he ever take on two mollies?

She leaped forward to Shrikesong's aid, leaving the unanswered question for after her clanmate was safe. She was at his side in a flash — being small meant being quick — and dug her claws into the golden-and-white molly's back. She could feel prominent ribs underneath the sleek pelt. But the molly's teeth were locked in Shrikesong's scruff and she refused to let go. Brindlefur gritted her own teeth and tugged harder, but to no avail — instead the molly managed to slip out of her grip and she tumbled backwards.

Her head aching, she jumped to her paws again in time to glimpse Thistlefeather ram into the golden molly. Thistlefeather was tall and lanky and it was easy for her to get enough momentum to knock a cat over. There was a blur of cream and white and golden and then Thistlefeather was on top of her opponent. Brindlefur dashed to where the gray molly lay in a bedraggled heap and planted a tawny-and-black paw on her chest, unwilling to let Thistlefeather outdo her.

With a grunt, Shrikesong rolled over and clambered up, dust and grass spilling from his pelt. His eyes narrowed as he took in the scene around him, catching on the crimson beads of blood welling up in the gray warrior's fur. "Let her up." He commanded, already completely in control. Brindlefur reluctantly shifted her paw from its place on the cat's chest. For the first time she noticed that a sour smell tainted ThunderClan's otherwise-fresh scent of leaf mold and bark. These cats were either sick or had contact with illness.

Thistlefeather stepped off the golden-and-white cat without waiting for Shrikesong's consent. For the first time Brindlefur got a good look at the two ThunderClan cats. Both were very thin, their bones making clear ridges underneath their unkempt fur. The gray molly was wheezing, but Brindlefur couldn't tell whether it was from exhaustion or sickness.

"What happened, Shrikesong?" Thistlefeather mewed, but the silver-and-white tom ignored her. He padded towards the gray molly, who flinched as he began looking over her wounds. Brindlefur's ears flattened; why was he examining an enemy warrior's cuts?

"Shrikesong, she's an enemy. Why are you looking her over like she's a WindClan kit?"

Shrikesong paused in his observation to give her a superior glance, his tail raised. Brindlefur resisted the impulse to hiss. Shrikesong had resented her since she'd turned down the medicine cat position so many moons ago; she wouldn't be surprised if he completely ignored her. But eventually, after he'd evaluated the young molly, he did answer.

"I'm a medicine cat, Brindlefur. I don't get caught up in clan rivalries — except when I find someone trying to steal my herbs." He threw both ThunderClanners a pointed glance. "What, may I ask, were you doing in my catmint?" (Shrikesong maintained a small patch of catmint here at the Outcropping, where overhanging rock sheltered the plants.)

It was the golden molly who answered, her hoarse mew still defiant. "We were trying to take some. For ThunderClan."

Brindlefur's pelt bristled. "What, so you can't use _your own_ catmint? It's not _WindClan's _job to supply _ThunderClan —"_

"Enough." Thistlefeather said coldly; Brindlefur hissed wordlessly. The cream-and-white molly turned to the ThunderClan cats. "Why do you need catmint?"

"We have many cats sick with greencough." This time it was the pale gray molly who spoke.

"Palewhisker —" the golden cat tried to interrupt, clearly warning her not to give away her clan's weakness, but Palewhisker ignored her.

"Asterflower, Specklekit, Snakestripe, Patchpaw, and Cranepaw are all ill. The first frost killed our supply of catmint; we have nothing to treat our clanmates with. Laurelpelt and I came over here to steal a few sprigs — Patchpaw and Cranepaw are our apprentices, we can't just watch them die. Please, I'm begging you — ThunderClan needs help."

Thistlefeather's eyes widened and her lashing tail stilled. She was obviously affected by the sad story; Thistlefeather had always been a compassionate cat, unable to let others suffer. "WindClan might be able to help you." She said gently. "We have a surplus of catmint this season. I'll bring you to camp and you can talk with Hazelstar; I'm sure she'll agree we can spare a few sprigs."

_What? _Brindlefur swung around, her lips drawn back in a snarl. "What are you _doing?_ We need that catmint! Pebblekit's sick already, and Poppypaw's trying to hide it, but I know she's been coughing. So is Dapplepatch. We don't have _any _to spare!"

"Brindlefur. Why don't you run back to camp and tell Hazelstar some guests will be arriving soon?" Thistlefeather said frostily, her hackles up. "I'm taking these two back to camp — and I'm your superior, in case you'd forgotten. You follow my orders."

"Not when they're harebrained orders, I don't." Brindlefur hissed back. "Bringing them into camp could infect the cats who aren't already ill. In fact, these two could have already spread the sickness all over our territory. Do what's best for the clan, for once, Thistlefeather — or do you want the suffering of our clanmates to be on your paws?"

"Do what I say. Now." Thistlefeather's frigid blue gaze narrowed and she fixed Brindlefur with a stare so intense the mottled hairs on her shoulders stood up. Brindlefur stared back, aware that her tiny stature made her own glare much less impressive.

"No."

"Fine, then. I'll just take them back to camp myself." She beckoned to the ThunderClanners and marched forward without looking back. The two mollies hurried after her. Palewhisker glanced apologetically at Brindlefur; the tortoiseshell molly ignored her.

"Wait, Thistlefeather." Shrikesong put in. He'd been watching the confrontation without a word, although his whiskers had twitched several times. "Brindlefur's right. They could easily infect any one of your clanmates. It would be better for WindClan to send them home."

"I don't want what's better for WindClan." Thistlefeather growled back, her voice growing fainter as she loped towards camp. "I want what's better for every cat."

* * *

**A/N: Thank you for the reviews, Clearflight and Shadowfur1017! I'm really glad you're enjoying the story.**

**Actually, Clearflight, a bleak is a type of fish, haha, but the name did appeal to me because of its other meaning.**


	4. doubt

_Disclaimer: I do not own Warriors._

* * *

**Chapter 4**

Brindlefur and Shrikesong followed in Thistlefeather's pawsteps as they crossed the windswept moor. Sometimes Brindlefur could glimpse the lithe cream, silver, and golden shapes of the ThunderClanners and her own deputy, sometimes shallow dips in the desolate expanse swallowed them up. But they remained steadfast in their path to the camp, however much Brindlefur hoped Thistlefeather would change her mind and switch directions.

Her anger was dissipating quickly, although a little remained, like an ember smoldering long after the fire has gone out. A cold, icy feeling was replacing it: dread. How could Thistlefeather be the right deputy for WindClan if she risked the lives of her clanmates to aid her enemies? All of Brindlefur's friends and family — Willowface, Nightfang, Bleakpaw, Dawndapple — were in danger because Thistlefeather couldn't put her own heart aside for once and do what was best for her own clan. _Maybe I don't have much foresight, _Brindlefur thought grimly, _but that has to be better than what Thistlefeather would do to WindClan._

She glanced over at Shrikesong; his expression was cold and distant, lacking the smug, confident demeanor he usually had. _He's probably thinking about the risk Thistlefeather took bringing ThunderClan to camp. And how harebrained she is_. It felt strange to finally agree with a cat she'd been at odds with for so many moons.

"Do you think anyone will get sick?" Brindlefur asked, breaking the tense silence. Shrikesong's vivid copper eyes focused again.

"Cats are already sick."

Brindlefur's tail lashed. "You know what I mean."

"I don't know." He spat it out like the words were painful admit. "Probably not, but it's always better to be safe than sorry. Thistlefeather was stupid, bringing them into camp."

Brindlefur hissed wordlessly in agreement.

* * *

It was easy to tell when Shrikesong and Brindlefur neared camp. Yowls and snarls echoed from the depression that formed WindClan's home; clearly Thistlefeather had already arrived with the ThunderClanners. There were several gaps in the prickly gorse blockading the hollow; Brindlefur pushed through a tiny one that she'd once caught Pebblekit, Silverkit, and Smokekit sneaking out of. Shrikesong glared at her — he was much too large to fit through any but the widest hole in the barrier — and stalked away on large white paws to the main entrance. Brindlefur ignored the tugging of claw-sharp thorns against her tawny-and-black-mottled pelt. Emerging from the shadows of the gorse wall, she surveyed the camp.

Palewhisker and Laurelpelt sat uncomfortably in the middle of the roughly circular camp. They looked very different — while Palewhisker was meek and submissive, her tail between her legs and her head lowered, as Brindlefur watched Laurelpelt leaped to her paws, her fur on end and her hackles up. A sleek black tom had his muzzle in her face and his lips drawn back to reveal delicate ivory fangs. _Nightfang, of course._ She pricked her ears to catch his words.

"Don't you dare say a thing about my sister. She's the most loyal warrior you'll ever meet, including any of _your _clanmates. I wouldn't expect _loyal _warriors to go behind their leader's back and beg for herbs —"

_Oh no, not the protective big brother routine. _Nightfang broke off his snarling as he noticed Brindlefur's compact tortoiseshell form slinking towards him, her golden eyes narrowed. He ducked his head in greeting, his night-black tail raised with happiness; he didn't seem to notice her sour expression.

"Hey, Brindle!"

"Nightfang." She mewed, a hint of irritation sharpening the words. She hated when her brother used his kithood nickname for her. "Why don't you step away from our _guests_ —" she spat it with obvious sarcasm "— and come with me? I need to hear what Thistlefeather's saying to Hazelstar. There's no way I'm going to just let her give away our supply of catmint —"

"Hold on there, Brindle. I don't know who you think you are, but deputy you most certainly are not. You can't just go barging in there." Nightfang meowed.

"Why not?"

"Oh come on, are you really that harebrained?" Nightfang sighed in exasperation. "Don't you think that's a little bit impertinent? I don't believe Hazelstar would appreciate it very much at all if you suddenly interrupted a private meeting between her and her deputy."

"But she's going to just give away all our catmint because ThunderClan asked for it!" A desperate hiss edged Brindlefur's voice. "We don't have any to spare —"

"Hazelstar's not stupid. She knows how much catmint we have and she knows if we can afford to give any away — that's why she's the leader, because she's smart. You're getting worked up over nothing. Lower your voice, too. Cats are staring."

Brindkefur glanced around. Willowface had her pale gray ears pricked and her mismatched blue-and-yellow eyes were focused on her two arguing kits. One-eye sat next to her, her rich creamy brown tail curled around white-splashed paws. She, too, was fixated on Brindlefur and Nightfang. Even Swanpelt, her ears flattened slightly with disdain, was watching. The tortoiseshell molly gave no sign of embarrassment outwardly, but inwardly she burned with humiliation. She shut her mouth with a snap; Nightfang's whiskers twitched, and she turned her best death stare on him.

"Hey, aren't you supposed to be guarding us?" Laurelpelt interrupted the two siblings' quarrel. She looked like she was on the verge of purring with amusement. "Still want to defend your sister, squirrelbrain? Questioning a leader's decision doesn't sound very loyal to me."

Nightfang spin around in an instant, his white teeth bared. "Shut up, forest dung." He spat with surprising ferocity. Laurelpelt snarled wordlessly at him, looking deeply affronted by the insult, and lifted a pale golden paw threateningly. Her pearly white claws caught the early-morning sunshine. Nightfang growled, a warning_ meowrrr _coming from deep within his chest.

"Nightfang!" No one had noticed Hazelstar bound up the white-rock, so absorbed they were by the confrontation taking place. "I thought you were better than this. Leave our guests alone; they're only looking for help, not to pick a fight."

Nightfang looked mutinous, his unsheathed claws flexing as if they itched to bury themselves in ThunderClan fur, but he had always been one to abide by the rules. He dipped his neat night-black head respectfully and stepped away from Laurelpelt.

"I'm sure you're wondering what two ThunderClan warriors are doing in our camp." Hazelstar addressed the entirety of the gathered Clan now. "ThunderClan is overrun with greencough, and they've come seeking aid. However, we too have several sick cats, and we don't have any surplus to give away. I'm sorry, Laurelpelt, Palewhisker, but we can't spare any catmint for you right now."

Brindlefur let out a sigh of relief, but the two ThunderClanners sagged. Palewhisker sank to her dainty gray paws and Laurelpelt, although she tried to remain stoic, couldn't stop her whippet-thin tail from dragging on the dusty ground. Brindlefur couldn't help but feel sorry for the two warriors — they were the very picture of hopelessness. She tried not to imagine what would happen if her _own _clanmates began falling ill around her and she could do nothing but watch. Sickness was one battle she couldn't fight with claws.

"We will not attack you while you are weak; it would be an unjust battle. There is nothing more we can offer you. Fallowpelt, Willowface, please escort these two to the border." Hazelstar concluded. Palewhisker dipped her head to WindClan's leader in gratitude, but Laurelpelt said nothing. Her bright orange eyes were narrowed shrewdly and her tailtip twitched. The two warriors Hazelstar had named padded forward and gently nudged the ThunderClanners towards a large gap in the prickly gorse; it didn't take more than a few heartbeats for them to disappear from view.

"The Gathering is in two days," Hazelstar reminded the clan once they were gone, "and those who wish to go might want to find a way to impress me." With that she leapt smoothly from the rock, although as she landed she stumbled towards Thistlefeather, who was sitting at the foot of the stone in the traditional deputy's position. Brindlefur was struck by how old the creamy brown molly must be now. She'd succeeded Emberstar when Brindlefur was just three moons old, and at the time, Brindlekit. That was ten seasons ago. Hazelstar couldn't have many lives left.

She shook her head, dispelling her thoughts, and padded towards Thistlefeather, intending to give the molly a piece of her mind, but Hazelstar got there first. The leader's tail lashed and she looked at her newly appointed deputy with narrowed olive eyes.

"I don't want to see you put the lives of another clan before your own clanmates' lives again. I need my deputy to be completely loyal to WindClan, and if you can't do that there are others that can."

Thistlefeather said nothing as Hazelstar stalked lightly away, but Brindlefur knew her well enough to recognize her resentment at what she viewed as injustice in the slight twitch of her pale cream tail. She brushed passed Thistlefeather without a word. Hazelstar had said all she'd wanted to say, and the words would hurt much more coming from the leader's mouth, she didn't need to rub it in — and although now they were at odds, she didn't want to push to far and lose her best friend forever.

Out of the corner of her eye she spotted Bleakpaw's slim silver-and-white form basking in the weak winter sunlight. With a sudden inspiration she loped towards the young tom. She wanted to go to the Gathering; maybe convincing Bleakpaw to finally attack would impress Hazelstar enough to let both mentor and apprentice attend.

* * *

"Thistlefeather?"

Brindlefur padded forward on silent paws. It was already nightfall; soon Hazelstar would be announcing who was going to the Gathering. Bleakpaw followed behind her like a silver shadow. Brindlefur had finally managed to persuade him to attack her, and now the young tom was nearly glowing with pride. His mentor was proud too, but she didn't show it.

She glanced around. Thistlefeather had to be around here somewhere — there. She was carefully grooming every inch of her short, smooth cream-and-white fur on the edge of camp, hidden in the shadows cast by the gorse barrier. Brindlefur hurried towards the molly with Bleakpaw at her side.

"Thistlefeather!" She called again. Thistlefeather's blue eyes, like chips of ice, flashed at her in the gloom. Brindlefur lowered her own golden eyes in submission (she hadn't talked with Thistlefeather since ThunderClan had entered their territory, and for the most part during the past two days they'd behaved like strangers) and mewed, "Bleakpaw is doing well in his battle training, and I would appreciate it if you could relay that to Hazelstar and ask if she would consider letting Bleakpaw and me attend the Gathering."

Thistlefeather nodded slightly. "I will."

Brindlefur had half expected Thistlefeather to refuse, but she'd always been a fair cat and she knew as well as Brindlefur that Bleakpaw deserved to attend. Her silky tail waving jauntily in the air, she padded away to wait for Hazelstar's announcement. She had a fair chance of being chosen now, and Bleakpaw had a better one. Maybe she didn't always appreciate her apprentice (alright, she didn't usually appreciate her apprentice) but she had a bond with him, as did all mentors, and that meant she wanted him to be happy.

She didn't have long to wait. The moon rose, its round cratered form giving off a luminous glow that lit the entire camp. When it was halfway to its peak, a shadow trotted out of the leader's den and leaped onto the white-rock. In the moonlight, Hazelstar looked like a StarClan warrior (or what Brindlefur imagined a StarClan warrior to look like — she'd never seen one). "May all cats old enough to sleep under that stars gather beneath the white-rock for a clan meeting!" She yowled.

Cats slunk from the shadows like snakes, one by one joining the throng of light-washed felines that had answered Hazelstar's call. Nightfang sat down one Brindlefur's right side, his pale green eyes glinting with anticipation and his pitch-black tail twitching. Willowface slipped through the crowd to Brindlefur's other side. Her pale speckled gray pelt, so unlike her daughter's tawny-and-black tortoiseshell, seemed to glow white in the light of the moon.

"Clanmates, it is time for me to announce who will attend the Gathering tonight. All the clans are on edge, so I've chosen a small group, just in case we are attacked." Hazelstar paused. "Don't be disappointed if your name isn't called. You'll get another chance to go."

Nightfang leaned towards Brindlefur. "I hope I'm going. There's something I need to find out." He whispered to her; she twitched one brindled ear but didn't reply.

"Dawndapple, Bleakpaw, Dacetail, Brindlefur," the tortoiseshell molly purred slightly, "Duskclaw, Thistlefeather, Blizzardpaw, and of course, Shrikesong, will accompany me to the Gathering. I don't want to hear any complaints. If you've been chosen, we'll leave as soon as you're all gathered by the entrance."

Brindlefur shot Nightfang a triumphant look and slipped through the dissipating crowd to stand in front of the largest gap in the gorse. She found herself jostled by Duskclaw, who forced his muscular body between her and Thistlefeather and immediately began chatting with the deputy. A yowl from Hazelstar silenced his obvious attempt at flirting with the molly.

"Follow me. Sharing tongues is fine, but don't let anything about WindClan slip."

With that she raced forward, and as silent as shadows in the night her clanmates surged after her.


End file.
